The Missing Prophecy
by LionHood
Summary: "As a hawk is born, the stone will fall. Harshly gone, the morning is. Revenge is sworn, but though it will fail. The lily will wilt, the hawk will go missing, no longer there," A prophecy is for told about a young cat, many moons before he was born. Tragedies fill his life, and here is his story.


**Prologue**

Most warriors would kill to be leader. Its most kits dream, ambition, to be where I am now. I hate being leader. In fact, I wish I wasn't.

Being leader is like having to have fifty kids that all rely on you to be fed each hour. You have to make sure things are smooth, safe, and comfortable. You make one mistake and you have a bunch of angry hornets on your tail. Not only do you have to go on patrols, you also have to make sure the patrols are doing what they are supposed to. Not only do you have to worry about what your clan is doing, you have to worry about the other clans. Are they going to attack? Are they stealing your food? Are the other clans fighting? When would be a good time to steal that piece of land that would add to your prey income?

Very hard.

What's worse than that is when you have to deal with problems with in your clan. Stupid problems, too. Silly little, "Oh! Robinpaw ate two pieces of fresh kill! That's not fair!" or "Redstreak has been waking me up at night with his awful snoring!" I tell them to grow up and work it out themselves without using claws or teeth.

At least I don't have to do a lot of the duties, because of my deputy, Snowdawn. Yeah, I love Snowdawn. It's hard to admit it, but I can't live without her. Not that I'll ever be her mate. I couldn't do that to her, bringing her into my misery.

Yup, better to keep my distance.

OK, fine. There are some good things with being the leader of a clan. Like at the gathering. It does feel great to have all those cats looking up at you, hanging on your every word. I guess the ceremonies aren't that bad either, and the fact that you get nine lives.

With all that said, I still hate being leader, and I still hate my life. Maybe, maybe you should just listen to my story. So gather around, open your ears. Stretch out. Relax. I have a lot to tell. Trust me it will be a crazy story.

An old, wrinkled man stands beside a younger boy, and a young girl on either side of him. The old man was sprinkled with grey, in his once full head of hair of a lush, brown color. Atop his head sat two large cat ears, coming up to a sharp point. Right under the small of his back, a brown tail protruded from his pants. His back was hunched over as he gazed out onto the dazzling lake. A large bow and a quiver of arrows hung at his side.

The younger male, about the height of the older man's shoulders, was pacing anxiously. The man's hair was orange, streaked with darker shades. It was messy from his hands running through it so many times. He, too, had ears and a tail, of which his were brilliant orange with darker tabby markings, the same colors as his hair.

"Whistlebreeze, what is it that you needed to wake me up in the middle of the night?" the young man asked, clearly frustrated with the young girl. The girl kept silent, her long brown hair billowing slightly in the small breeze. Like the two men, she had ears and a tail, but hers were brown, like the older man's. Instead of the young girl speaking, the old man coughed, and then spoke.

"Redvine, calm down. It is clearly important. Whistlebreeze, continue," the old man said, turning to the young girl. Whistlebreeze nodded, pulling her hair into a bunch, and pulling it over her shoulder. Running her fingers over it, she finally spoke, her voice soft even though it had much conviction.

"Thank you, Thistlestar. It's a prophecy, from StarClan. And this isn't just a small prophecy, at least I think," Whistlebreeze said, glaring at Redvine, silencing him before he could speak. "It will be very big for ShadowClan, I can just feel it!" she declared, her voice rising with every word. Thistlestar put a calming hand on her shoulder, while Redvine began to pace even more, muttering things unable to be fully translated. Ignoring his deputy's ramblings, Thistlestar turned his back on the young tom.

"Continue," he said, his voice cracking with age. Whistlebreeze took a deep breath, and nodded.

"As a hawk is born, the stone will fall. Harshly gone, the morning is. Revenge is sworn, but though it will fail. The lily will wilt, the hawk will go missing, no longer there," she recites, almost robotically, letting out along breath after it was finished. Redvine stopped, and looked at Whistlebreeze.

"Morning? Does it mean Morningkit? My kit? My kit!" he wailed, and started pacing again, not waiting for her answer. Thistlestar rolled his eyes, gripping the fretting tom's shoulder when he passed.

"Calm down or I will send you back to camp," the leader instructed, and Redvine sighed, and crumpled to the ground, muttering how he was too new at this.

"I do not know what this means," continued Whistlebreeze, who was still anxiously fingering her hair. "I just received it in a dream. I woke you both before I even thought about it. I really am sorry," Thistlestar offered her a calming smile.

"Whistlebreeze, I thank you for that. However, until we have figured out the prophecy, I wish for you not to tell a single soul. You too, Redvine," Redvine muttered something in agreement, as Whistlebreeze bowed.

"As you wish, Thistlestar. It is best not to upset them," she said, turning. "I better get back to Raindrops. Her leg is healing, but I must check on It," with that, she left, disappearing into the night. Thistlestar watched her go, and then crouched down next to the distraught deputy.

"Redvine," he said, calmly, with some anger. "What position are you?"

"Deputy," muttered Redvine, reluctantly.

"Then act like it, and man up!" he hissed, and stood. Turning, he disappeared too, leaving Redvine to fret and worry on his own.


End file.
